


you make it easy

by macaroonie



Category: O Human Star
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings, M/M, Porn, Post-Canon, based on one kiss that i think about a lot ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macaroonie/pseuds/macaroonie
Summary: It's fucking happening, is what it is.He leans into the kiss. He already feels incredible and melting. Brendan knows what he's doing. Al praises - he doesn't know, God? - that one of them does. It's been a long time since he last kissed anyone, let alone a fresh-faced grad student                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~This is a porn coda to this INcredibly amazing kiss scene in O Human Star,mwhich is seriously one of the best webcomics out there! Pls PLS read omg at http://ohumanstar.com/ If you understand what fandom/webcomic I'm writing this fic for, please PLeAse message me so we can talk about it. If you don't. read the webcomic it will change UALSO I JUST READ THE CANON PORN CODA THAT BLU DELLIQUANTI POSTED TO THIS SCENE AND I FUCKING CALLED IT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! please buy it it's $3.00 and Beautiful





	

It's fucking happening, is what it is.

He leans into the kiss. He already feels incredible and melting. Brendan knows what he's doing. Al praises - he doesn't know, God? - that one of them does. It's been a long time since he last kissed anyone, let alone a fresh-faced grad student.

This is good. Al starts with closed eyes and quickly opens them - cannot stop looking at this brilliant, mistaken kid, slides his hands under his soft t-shirt to make sure he's real.  
Brendan knows how to kiss and they move together, following and pushing and feeling sweet heat curling and settling. This is better than anything he could have imagined.

They take a pause for breath at the same time. They catch each other’s eyes and grin lopsidedly. Imagine making out on the workshop table, only yesterday!  
He searches brown eyes for hesitation, and all he can read is want and curiosity under his heavy lids and fair lashes.

Brendan flushes. He huffs a laugh and almost slips off, wriggles back on even closer than before.

Now Al is blushing too (and trying desperately hard not to). Surely he couldn't have missed his erection? Is it too soon? Is it weird, to get hard while making out? It's been a long fucking time, give him a break, and now Brendan is right there and he smells better, even, than he thought he would, and his back is taut and shifting under his palms:

Brendan swallows and moves again, deliberately. Stretched denim against stretched denim.

Mother of God, it feels good, it already feels too much.  
He cannot imagine the look on his face right now.

Brendan smiles in satisfaction and kisses him. Open mouth, tongues, whatever, it is working –

He’s attracted to his body and his smart mind too. They are inseparable. Brendan, the physical fact of him inhabiting his lonely and private space, and Brendan, fast mind and sweet mouth and “I want to be here. I want to see what happens next for you,” and incredible, leaping, glowing ideas! The first person who caught the robots thing like he did. Turned it into fact.

He wasn't half as good when he was his age.

And never forgetting Brendan’s smooth back and surprisingly smart fingers and side-eyed, knowing glances.

The man in question bites him gently on his neck and then not so gently, and ok that's it we're moving now before we get, something, on the workshop bench I'm never going to be able to use this thing again

He slides his hands down from back to butt and lifts, hup. Brendan is light, when compared to what he usually carries.  
He opens his eyes (generally useful when walking) and encounters hazy surprise.  
Huh. Not the logical course of action that it seemed to him then.  
He should probably ask him about this. Maybe he doesn't want to be carried to the bedroom. Is this a kiss that could be confined to a table and an afternoon?

“I was going to take us to my room, but-”

Al makes an clumsy motion to put him down and Brendan clings on harder, comes out with “No no no, just keep doing exactly what you're doing, yep, great thank you,”

Now the whole thing feels like a miss-step. He tries to avoid this.  
God damn it, why else would he lock himself away? When you stay aloof and out things are clearer and cleaner but already he's thrown that out for this and he doesn't even know what this is yet.

Brendan, hoisted lazily and comfortably, nibbles his neck again (how does he know about that place right there) and settles into his body better. Rubs their groins together.  
This is, actually and non-hyperbolically, awful. The bedroom, which he logically knows is less than sixty seconds away, seems to be on the other side of the earth for all the progress they're making.  
He’s been reduced to this! Five years since his last encounter and this seems like it's tearing him apart from the inside, in the good way.

Each available surface needs a brief stop before he pulls himself together and picks him up again. Doesn't he understand that the sooner he gets to the bedroom the sooner he can get him naked?

Whatever he's doing is drawing away his conscious thought, second by second, and he is so acutely aware of every single part of Brendan-touched body that it hurts, fuck, this is impossible they are both clothed and push, the door is open, he tumbles him on to the bed. 

Oh, yeah. And remembers. The thing more important than the age thing, or the employer/assistant thing. The man thing, because he has made himself forget until now. 

He looks out the window and slowly, slowly, starts to take off his shirt for something to do while the thoughts stop him right in his tracks. 

He never really wanted to, before. Looked, sure, but something uncomfortable stopped him from acting.  
It was his uncle, maybe, and then the deeply conservative group of people that he hung out with by default in college, and then he became who he is now and strange enough already and lonely and  
when can you act on a thing like that?  
Never, if you leave it.

Excuses, excuses with a lovely man on his bed and his palms sweating, he sticks them in his pockets, turns round, looks for a sleeve for which to fidget with and finds none.

The only solution seems to be to become – not yourself. Smooth and easy, for sex. The flaw is, Brendan isn’t in bed for some impossible sex god of a stranger. Somehow by not trying he has succeeded in what he didn't even know he wanted.

Whatever Brendan asks for, he shall try his best to give. He coughs back a laugh. Already giving so much.

“Come over,” Brendan calls, easy, rough-voiced. The sound of it makes him shiver. He turns and it is creamy naked skin, lying carefully on the (thankfully recently changed) sheets, sounding confident unable to make eye contact. 

Al allows himself to inspect and sees the answering twitchiness.  
He remembers too late that he isn’t the only worried one here. 

His eyes jump to and linger on his taut arms (Brendan should start wearing tighter shirts) and his quick in out concave belly.

And his dick, of course. Hard for him. If nothing else, this unavoidable, physical confirmation. His mind skitters over that.

Brendan's eyes in turn move over his body. Al has little feelings either way about himself. He knows remotely that people have found him attractive but he thinks it's too bulky and more recently, too hairy.  
He shaves when he remembers, which is more recently now Brendan is looking.  
The arms are useful for lifting things though.

Under Brendan's attention, he feels embarrassed and then slowly, something worth looking at. In the best possible way compared to a beautiful machine, but the searching eyes have wishes that you don’t really associate with metal.

Their eyes meet while tasting each other and stick there. It should be awkward but it isn't. 

Al pulls away before it becomes too tender. 

(Although he knows it's a fallacy to pretend this can be shut away in the morning)

And now comes the touching, skin on unfakeable skin. His footsteps are heavy.

From outside of his body he watches his hands climb over Brendan and settle either side of his chest. He hangs for a second or a lifetime above, breathing the same air, and then dips down, mouth open. The thread between them pulls tight and his heart beats anxiously.

This, he's done this before. He's not a complete newbie – it takes a particular kind for that to be true after you reach forty.  
Usually there is, well, more on the chest though.

Despite everything, the overwhelming feeling is yes, please. Not even his slight stubble jolts him unpleasantly enough to want to stop. The moment, the now, saturates his actions like it hasn't done in years, leaving not even enough space to think about later.

So far, this is good. Maybe this is a mistake as well, but thinking about the consequences is for tomorrow, right? This thing has finally snapped and now they're doing it, literally doing it (or just about to) and it’s a very strange way to go to hell.

In a pause where his mind does not pull together, Brendan puts a hand tentatively on the other man's face. Al leans after a pause.

Silence. And then Brendan chooses to say “Al, have you done anything before? With a guy?”

Shit. I'll have to say no, because already he knows when I'm lying, and then this lurching thing is going to come to a halt because we have to keep going,

“No. Is that a problem?” Defensive already and it was an honest question. Great start, Al.

“Of course not. I'm, uh.”

“Uh what?”

“I'm kinda uh flattered actually. That it's me.”

Of course it's you. Who else could it possibly be? Who else would keep on pushing after he gave off every signal he had, like a hoverfly showing its black and yellow stripes?  
But move it on, on, keep it going, both of them know all about momentum, right?

\----------------------------

“So, do you want to show me what to do then?”

The words come out softer and he doesn't know it but rougher too, and Brendan swallows. This entire thing is incredible; from the mere fact that Al initiated it to the surreal sequence of events that lead him to lying here, naked.

He's giddy inside. Al doesn't know what to do? That's – fine, he'll show him, no problem.  
Noooo problem. Ha!

Just, it's just that his older, very attractive, genius boss offered to let him be his guide into the mysterious world of male/male sex. That's fine. Also fine is the suggestion, curling round the words, that Al will be quiet for this, letting him take the lead, the bull by the horns; for the first time in human memory deferring to someone else's superior knowledge.

Just, just.

Brendan is not super experienced, per say, but he did spend four years in college being smart mouthed and shorter than everyone else, and that gets some.  
(Al included apparently, gods be praised).

So this is like coding, in which it's the only thing he can do better than Al and that's only because he has more patience, and it's also completely not like coding in every way.

“Uh, it might be a good start to lean back? We can start – um, continue, - with kissing, if you like that, and then, we can see how it goes?”

Nice. Real nice, real smooth.  
Al slides on to the bed next to him without a comment – no smart mouth, just hands warm and rough on his face; firm, big hands, holding like he's certain of anything. 

Kissing again. But saying “again” makes it seem like it's normal, like he's somehow become accustomed to this. Brendan keeps on drifting off into the feeling and getting pulled back, little electric pulses, by Al's stubble on his cheeks.

After a while Al breathes into his ear - “I think I know what to do at this point,” - and rolls him over again so he's below, looking up. He is wearing the exact expression that he wears when he expects Brendan to mess up, and at the same time is challenging him to do better; this kind of warm hearted smirk that's been making him stutter for the last three months.

Brendan swallows, and settles his thighs either side of the solid warmth that is Al. They wriggle awkwardly for a second and it ends up with Al wedged in between the wall and the bed and Brendan on top, sitting, so close, breath and heat between them.

It is around this point that Brendan remembers that only one of them is fully naked, and exactly then is when Al inhales sharply, and that is because Brendan is pulling down the zipper on his jeans and mouthing his neck and marvelling at the smell that has been eluding him for all this time, trying to store it deep in his hippocampus if this turns out to be the last chance to get it. 

\---------------------------

“You don't have to - do that.” Al's voice is hoarse enough that even he can hear it.

(Not that he doesn't like it. Not that it doesn't feel like every nerve started firing when for the first time this night, someone acted like they knew what they were doing.)

“Shush,” says Brendan. A sudden powerful and confident Brendan. Al can’t catch his breath.

They link hands. It's almost sweet until Brendan guides the knot of fingers to Al's jeans and together, painstakingly, with many unintentional jerks on Al's part, they pull them off.

(Al is thinking: he'll never be able to wear these jeans again, if this goes sour, maybe even if it goes well. At the dangerous rate they're going, the entire house – hell, the city – will be stained with the memory.)

Brendan pulls up something from deep in his chest that is remaining unworried, that wants this exactly how it should be and that has been watching Al's face when he takes the lead, and breathes, “How about you jerk yourself off?”

He blushes a sudden juvenile red and fights the urge to stick his hands retrospectively over his mouth.

He's been waiting to say those words to someone since he read them in a steamy romance book when he was seventeen. Mouthing them when he shivered in the shower, pounding again and again in his mind until - !

It’s the exact things he isn’t. Suave, at ease and in control. It suggests experience, with vested interest but not salivation over the outcome.  
But, to Al? Did he read it right? Did he fuck it up?

There is a moment where Al goes still and Brendan shrinks. 

He fucked it up.

But then Al relaxes all at once and says, “Yes, yes, okay,”, and it is. It's okay.

\------------------------------

Uh, this is good. How does he know? It doesn't matter.

Under that gaze he is trapped in himself. He's surprised that he even has the muscle control to do what he wants but how could he not? Lovely man.

Brendan says, strange and impossible words, “You're doing well for your first time. But I guess this bit is familiar, yeah? How about next time? You think you could keep this up?”

It rushes at him in bits, words and images and the whole thing is building too fast too soon, it's been so fucking long.

Next time?  
That voice, is that lilt at the end a laugh?

Al manages, “Are you just going to watch me then?”

It's excellent to see him shiver. Al feels powered up, like one of his machines.  
He feels weak too.  
Laid out and vulnerable and he's not even being touched but that makes it better, uh.

He tries a stare to get his head together. To see Brendan lose it a little too.

Without speaking, Brendan ducks his head and moves one hand from the wall to Al's shoulder and the other to his cock.  
Both of them tremble at the contact, the combination of chaste and electric.  
Al tries to form the blurred thought I'll never be able to use that shoulder again, and shakes it off as he realises how strange it would sound said out loud. 

So: up and down, together, wrapped.

He's feeling a more than a little wild now.

Brendan shifts his hand and digs his nails a little deeper into the shoulder, unintentionally, but the sharpness startles a moan out of him.

The sensations are so intense it's as if he's seeing in double, like even breathing is stimulation.

That noise - quiet, half muffled, but definitely a moan, a noise in bed.  
Has he ever let go this much?

The bed is creaking. It's an ancient bed and the noise reminds him being of in his aunt's house and hoping the springs would hold, biting down on his hand.

Brendan's eyes are closed.  
His eyelids are fluttering.  
There's a tiny frown, as if even this requires his full concentration.  
Al feels small, because in this position he is. He feels like he wants to be concentrated on, instead of the ticking world behind Brendan's eyelids.  
The thought is so unexpectedly selfish he almost laughs, and something must change in his posture because the eyes open, they focus on him, they smile benevolently.

It’s suddenly urgent.  
Everything curls and twists and bundles up together and Brendan leans down and kisses him like the first time, almost delicately.

Al comes like he's fourteen and it's so good he isn't even embarrassed until after, when he notices and burns red and steadfastly doesn't apologise because that would be going too far.

\----------------------

Brendan thinks, wow.  
He thinks, Has he ever blushed before today? but mostly he thinks, I'm so turned on I can't even see straight.  
Hind brain takes over.  
“Al, I'm almost there, can you touch me?”  
He says it so quickly that it becomes an order rather than a request but Al, still red, reaches forward and touches, just like he asks.  
He looks up slowly.  
“Please.”

With those callouses on the over-sensitive skin, oh my gosh, God above and anything down below.  
He digs both hands into the muscle of those big shoulders, bites his lip, tries to last a little a little because it's so fucking good and he's not even doing anything technically interesting.

It's the tentativeness, the opposite of what he's come to expect from him, like Brendan can lead him and is, and is doing a great job, like he trusts him.

He comes on Al's hands. He managed to mutter out a warning beforehand but Al smiled slightly and stayed in place and that was it, as much as anything.  
And Al himself, as much as anything.

He flips off and stares up at the ceiling for a bit, trying to get his breath back.

Brendan is pretty sure this has been an excellent idea.  
If it leads to more nights like this, it has to be working, somehow.

But beyond sex - something between them has slotted into place and it's right, any fool could see it. 

1\. They work together well,  
2\. each has qualities that the other lacks  
3\. and each is trying to pretend that they know what they're doing.

Brendan has had a better time here in the grease-stained months he's known Al than, than in a long time. He's excited by the possibilities of them in the same way he is excited by the work they’re doing together that’s going to change the world. 

He sure didn't write his application looking for a surly older boyfriend but if that is how is goes, that is how it fucking goes. Never let it be said that he turned a good thing down if it looked like trouble.

Al has eased himself down and is lying carefully next to him, pointedly not making eye contact.

Going fast, that was the key, right? Was being the important word.

It brings him back into the present to hear corresponding noises of breathing, the room ticking around them, night time in a city. 

Now Brendan has to tame Al into thinking this is a good idea again. Get him back that recklessness that somehow persuaded him into picking him up and carrying him like he was nothing, into kissing heatedly on random bits of furniture: did that really happen?

He sneaks a peek. Brendan feels on fire. It's all going right. He feels mischievous and lucky.

Confident. Al likes that.

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he makes himself say, half grinning at the appalling line.  
It's half dark. The curtains are drawn, but he still sees the flash of teeth from a smile that he was looking for.

“Of all the things you could say...” His voice is a little strained but the smothered laughter is genuine.

He doesn't flinch away when Brendan daringly shifts closer and presses their arms together.  
Instead, after a while, he sighs quietly like he's forgotten anyone is listening. A private noise.  
Brendan hears him shift and the bedsprings twang mournfully when he gets up like they, too, are sad to see him go. Bathroom noises confirm that he's only getting a flannel and brushing his teeth.

The domestic noises in, he realises, a room that probably has never been inhabited by anyone except Al, are great. He doesn't realise he's craning to hear them until Al sticks his head around the door and he quickly lies back down.

Al's face twitches like seeing Brendon surprises him and then tries for a smile and then settles back to the habitual stony faced stare. He meets it with the biggest grin he can muster. 

Al smirks in the half-light, shakes his head softly, and comes back to his own bed. 

They fit, somehow, on the big mattress.  
They sleep, somehow, throughout the night. 

Somehow talking about it gets put away, far away, so they can escape their heads full of thoughts for one night and focus on the comfort of a body you trust in a space that is familiar and very strange at the same time.


End file.
